


In the Eyes of a Child

by Flyting



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Creepy, Gen, Time Travel, creepy angst, supernatural custody disputes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyting/pseuds/Flyting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin thinks that he's finally found a way to get Baelfire back.</p><p>He didn't count on opposition from a frightened mother, desperate to protect her child.</p><p> <i>"I was playing with my friend."</i><br/><i>“Your friend?” She turned angrily, following his pointing finger, looking for one of the other little boys from the village. Or perhaps that girl- the one who had gotten him to jump in the stream on a dare just the other day-</i><br/><i>Her angry tirade died in her throat. Standing at the edge of the clearing was not a child, but a man.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Eyes of a Child

She wasn’t sure, at first, what had woken her. Perhaps it was just a mother’s instinct.

The cottage was quiet in that way that only came in the dead of night. The fire had burned down to embers long ago, and the only sounds were the distant chirping of crickets.

Her husband wasn’t there beside her, but she hadn’t expected him to be. She had been the one to suggest that he would stay the night at a roadside inn, instead of traveling all the way home from the market at Corwen in the dark. He had agreed readily enough, no more eager to be home than she was to have him there.

It wasn’t his absence that had woken her. Sitting up in bed, she groped around in the darkness for a candle. It had taken her a moment, but she had finally realized that the only breathing she heard in the room was her own.

Her son’s bed was empty.

She calls his name once, sharply, her voice still rough from sleep. His blankets were tossed back, and the pillow still bore the faint impression of his head. He had been sound asleep when she went to bed herself. How long had she slept?

The quiet in the room was deafening. She called his name again, just to chase away the silence, although she could see in a glance that he was nowhere to be found in their cramped little one-room cottage.

She could also see that their good lantern was missing from its hook beside the door.

A thin, knife’s edge of fear grazed her heart. He knew better than to leave the house at night.

Smothering her fear in irritation, she wraps a shawl around her shoulders to ward off the barest hint of a chill that still hung in the air. Shielding her candle with one hand, she steps out into the night. When she called his name again, it implied the full threat of a mother’s wrath should the offending child not immediately make himself known.

Doubtless he had heard a neighbor’s dog, or some stray cat, and rushed out to see it without a thought for how it would worry her to find him gone. He had just had his sixth name-day and was becoming more adventurous by the minute, always rushing off to explore or climb trees with the other boys in their village. She had tried to encourage him, despite his father’s fretful protests.

When the only reply to her call was the mocking chip of distant crickets, that edge of fear threatened to become a panic.

Barefoot and clad only in her nightdress and shawl, she searches around the house, in turns cajoling the boy to come out, now, from wherever he’s hiding, and end the joke, and threatening him with what will happen if he doesn’t. With every second that passes without a sign of him, she finds it harder to draw breath to speak.

Her imagination has always been vivid, a fact that she loathes now as it conjures up a hundred scenarios for what could be happening to her child. Their village was small, stiflingly so, and close-knit. Strangers were rare, and any crime beyond the occasional drunken scuffle was nearly unheard of. Still, they lived at the edge of the forest and sometimes there were wolves…

And that wasn’t to mention the older, darker things that sometimes made their homes in the forests of this part of the world. She had heard… there were rumors that the Dark One liked children, weren’t there?

She is on the verge of running to wake the neighbors, and never mind the late hour, when a distant light catches her eye. It was a lantern, bobbing at just the height of a child’s hand, moving towards the looming shadow of the forest.

Thanking the stars, she follows, half running to reach the light before it disappears into the trees. Her candle gutters out in her haste and is just as quickly abandoned. Out in the open, the moon and stars provided more than enough light to put one foot in front of the other.

She calls her son’s name again, and sees the figure hesitate at the edge of the tree line. Irritation surged and warred with the worry in her heart. When she got hold of that boy, he was going to wish he’d been dragged off and eaten by wolves.

The figure turned and disappeared into the forest.

Fear gave her speed, and she reached the edge of the clearing in time to see the light dipping and weaving off cautiously between the trees. She followed. The only light was a thin, watery stream of moonlight that trickled down through the trees. It was more than enough; she had been raised in this forest.

Sticks and sharp stones dug into her bare feet, but she didn’t as much as glance at the uneven ground. If she lost sight of her son’s lantern she feared she might not find it again.

Finally, she realized that the figure had come to a stop in a small clearing.

There is a strange sort of hush in the air as she approached. Even the night- creatures were quiet. The stillness makes her hesitate- to tread carefully and quietly, for fear of breaking it.

The only sound is a low mumbling, that coalesces into her son’s voice as she draws closer.

“t’s… no… wha-… we really… ca… see m-... you want to do-”

He laughed.

“I didn’t- you did!”

“ _Baelfire_!” she hissed in relief when she drew close enough to see his face in the lantern light.

“Mama?”

She kneels in front of him, grabbing tight hold of his arm to prevent him from taking flight again. The other hand fluttered fretfully over his face, his shoulders, smoothing back his wild hair and picking brambles off his nightshirt. Ratcheting worry had given a harsh, metallic edge to her voice. “Haven’t you heard me calling you? What are you doing out here? You know you’re not to go out alone at night!  _You know better_!”

“M’sorry mama,” his voice wobbled a little as she shook him, “I was playing with my friend.”

“Your _friend_?” She turned angrily, following his pointing finger, looking for one of the other little boys from the village. Or perhaps that girl- the one who had gotten him to jump in the stream on a dare just the other day. Whoever it was, she was going to march them home and wake their parents…

Her angry tirade died in her throat. Standing at the edge of the clearing was not a child, but a man.

Milah stood, putting herself between him and her son. From beneath the hood of a dark cloak, she could just see the glimmer of eyes watching her.

Her stomach felt as though she had just swallowed ice, but when she spoke, her voice was hard, “Whoever you are, you keep away from my son.”

Right when she started to think he wasn’t going to respond, the man gave a nasty little chuckle. “Well, well, aren’t you the devoted mother,” he said in a mocking, nasal voice. “So fierce, so  _protective_ …”

He takes a stalking half-step closer, and it is then that she realizes she has seen this man before. It had been weeks, but strangers were rare enough in their village, and she had taken note of that fine cloak. Last market day, she had caught him staring from across the crowded square. She had pointed him out to Rumplestiltskin at the time, but of course by the time he turned to look the man had vanished, and her husband had spent the rest of the day making a joke of her concerns.

The man had been staring at Bae.

“Leave us alone. Go,” she said, mustering all her bravado, “Before my husband gets here. 

Another mocking snicker, like the crackle of dry leaves, “Coming to your rescue, is he?”

There was something about that voice- it tugged at something familiar deep in the back of her mind.

“He’s out looking for Bae. He’ll be here soon.” It was a weak lie, especially to anyone who knew her husband, but better to chance it than let him realize she’s here alone. She gives Baelfire’s arm a little squeeze, silently willing him not to say anything.

“Will he?”

“Yes.”

“All the way from… Corwen, isn’t it? My, my, that is impressive. Quite a walk for a man with a bad leg.”

Milah felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Who are you?”

“No one important,” he growls, with such guarded hostility that she knows it must be a lie.  
  
“What do you want?” she asks, hating how young her voice sounded in that moment.  
  
There is a glint in the shadows under the hood, like teeth bared in a smile. “Something I’ve been looking for for a very long time.”

“Mama,” Baelfire whines softly, “I wanna go home.” He’s stumbling, tired. His late night is finally catching up with him.

“We’re going home right now, Bae,” she says, her eyes never leaving the man. It was hard to tell at this distance, but he seemed of a height with her, perhaps even a bit smaller. She was strong and quick, still young. He would find her a difficult obstacle if he decided to try and stop them by force.

She keeps one eye on the man and one hand tight on Bae as she carefully picks her way backwards through the treeline, finally turning her back on him only when they’re a sound distance away and the man hasn’t made the slightest move to pursue them.

No sooner has she turned her back on him, than the man is suddenly there in front of her, so close that she nearly walks into him. Stumbling back, she drags Bae with her.   
  
“Mama!” Bae yelps, protesting at her rough grip on his arm. The man makes an aborted gesture- spidery, black-nailed fingers reaching towards her son, as if he means to snatch him out of her grasp, but Milah jerks the boy out of his reach. “What are you?” she demands, once again putting herself between them. Panic makes her voice shrill. “What do you want with my son?”  
  
“ _Your_  son?” the creature growls, suddenly behind them again. She whirls around, letting out an undignified little yelp. It’s playing with them, using magic to jump from place to place. Keeping itself close to Bae. They cannot possibly run, but if she can take it by surprise, perhaps…  
  
“He’s  _mine_ -” It reaches out, curling one mottled hand over Bae’s shoulder.  
  
Unthinking, she lashes out, shoving the hand away. “Touch him again and I’ll-“

“Ah!” it hisses, and tuts her, wagging one claw-like finger in her face. “You’ll what, Milah? Tell me, what will you do?”  
  
_That voice_ , a distant, frantic part of her thinks,  _I know that voice._  
  
It takes a moment longer for her to realize that it  _spoke her name_. Whatever this creature is, it knows them. It knew that Rumplestiltskin was away. It’s been watching Bae, it  _knows her family_.  
  
“I’ve waited too long for this chance to get him back. You, of all people, aren’t going to spoil it.”  
  
A sweeping gesture. Then a bone-jarring feeling of impact, like she’s been struck by an invisible giant, and suddenly her feet leave the ground. Milah flies back a dozen paces, landing on her back hard enough to knock the air from her body.   
  
For a moment, everything is a confusing tangle of shapes and sounds. She tastes blood. Distantly, she is aware that there’s something very important she’s supposed to be doing… Someone was calling for her.  
  
When the world swims back into focus, it brings with it the sound of her son’s startled cries and the man’s voice, wheedling, “-everything’s alright, Bae. See? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Come on now, we’re going home.”  
  
“No- Don’t-“ she croaks out, breathless, fear giving her the strength to roll over on hands and knees. Twigs and sharp stones prick at her palms. Half crawling, half stumbling, she pushes herself forward until one grasping hand fists around the hem of her son’s cloak. She clutches it like a lifeline.  
  
“Mama!”  
  
Her other hand gropes around in the leaf-litter, until it closes around a rough, jagged wood.

Her knees wobble only a little as she pulls herself upright. “You’re not taking my son anywhere.” she says through clenched teeth. “Not while I’m still breathing,” She doesn’t allow herself time to think, swinging the branch with as much strength as she can muster at the man’s head. It whistles through the air, weight giving it speed, and hits with a solid smack-  
  
-right in the palm of his outstretched hand. Claw-like fingers dig into the wood, splintering it, and the branch is ripped out of her grip.  
  
To her surprise, the creature lets out a twittering, birdlike sound that might have been laughter. “Well, if you insist.”  
  
Before she can make a more to defend herself, there is a wrenching pain in her chest, so severe that everything goes white around the edges. She tries to speak- to tell Bae to run- but can’t seem to draw breath-  
  
“I enjoyed killing you so much the first time. What a nice surprise to get to do it again,” the creature says, practically crowing with delight.  
  
She pushes at the hand buried in her chest, shoving at it with the last of her strength, but it’s like trying to move stone. Something inside  _tears,_ sending waves of agony through her body. Her knees buckle. Blackness is creeping around the edges of her vision, waiting to devour her. The creature hovers over her, fetid breath hot against her face, and she looks up, catching sight of the face beneath the hood for the first time-   
  
Her last breath is a weak scream.  
  
“Stop it! Stop! Leave her alone!” Before she can slip into the blackness completely, the pain unexpectedly dulls until she is aware of Baelfire’s voice again.   
  
“Leave- her- alone!” he grunts, punctuating each word with a fierce little shove. The thing doesn’t budge, but nor does it make a move to attack either of them. It’s standing stock-still, staring down at the boy as if in shock.  
  
“Bae, no-” she whispers, trying to pull him towards her with shaking fingers. He brushes her off easily, digging his heels into the dirt and pushing at the creature with all his might, until it stumbles back a step.   
  
“Go away!” Bae shouts, tearfully. “Go away! Don’t hurt her!” He is crying now. Great, sticky sobs that beg to be comforted, but he has planted himself between his mother and her attacker.  
  
Milah can only watch as a black-nailed hand reaches out slowly, hovering almost hesitantly near the boy’s face. “Bae?” the creature says softly, in that mockery of a familiar voice. “This isn’t-“ it looks from Baelfire’s tear-stained face to her prone form, lying like a broken doll in the leaf-litter, and back, as if seeing them for the first time.

“… oh.” It breathes. “…I’m so sorry, Bae.”   
  
Without another word, it’s gone. Vanished into the air.  
  
Slowly, the sounds of the forest return. The air itself feels as though a weight has been lifted, like the crisp calm after a thunderstorm.  
  
“Mama?” Bae asks urgently, once he’s sure that the man is not going to reappear, crouching down beside her and pressing his hands fretfully against her chest.   
  
“I’m alright, Bae,” she breathes, gathering him up against her. Her chest aches as though she’s been stabbed.  
  
“I’m sorry-“  
  
“I know, I know,” she strokes his hair. “It’s alright. You saved me.”  
  
With difficulty, she climbs to her feet, searching around on the ground for their discarded lantern. Bae clings to her waist, little hands fisted in her night-dress, until she picks him up, the way she used to do when he was small. His limbs twine around her, clinging. It’ll be slow-going, picking her way through the forest with him in her arms- he’s not as light as he used to be- but she wouldn’t let go of him for all the world.  
  
“You keep watch behind,” she says, as he tucks his chin into her shoulder.  
  
“For monsters?”  
  
“For monsters.”  
  
  
  
  
Hours later, when they are safely back home and Bae has finally calmed down enough to let her tuck him into bed, Milah will sit beside the fire with a mug of mulled wine to steady her nerves, facing the latched door until sunrise. She will try not to think about the wretched, murderous thing that wore her husband’s face- that spoke in a hideous mockery of his voice- and said that her son was his.   
  
But after all… Who knew what sort of dark creatures lurked in the deepest parts of the forest- or what shape they might assume to gain the trust of an innocent little boy? Surely there was no deeper meaning to it than that.   
  
Surely not.  
  
Whatever it had been, it was gone now. She needn’t tell her husband, she decides. He would only worry.  
  
  


  
Years later, Milah will see the new Dark One crouched over the body of her lover, one black-nailed claw plunged into his chest, and she will know the creature for what it was.  
  
  
  
  
  
And centuries later, Rumplestiltskin will sit alone in an empty castle, the remains of an enchanted hourglass shattered at his feet. Golden sand spills across the floor, sparkling amid shards of broken glass. It had taken years of clever planning to acquire and seconds only to smash it to the floor.  
  
It had seemed so perfect, in the planning; to rescue the boy not just from abandonment, but from war, from loss, from fear- everything. To give him the childhood he had deserved from the beginning.  
  
But he had nearly forgotten. All magic comes with a price.   
  
He closes his eyes, no longer able to bear the sight of a vacant bedroom- of toys and clothes acquired in a moment of hope, for a child who is no longer coming.  
  
He remembers now. He remembers weeks of night-terrors, of being woken every night by a frightened child who seemed terrified that he was going to be snatched from his bed by… something.  
  
By a dreadful monster.

 


End file.
